


Sometimes It's Just The End

by windupParadox



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9483887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windupParadox/pseuds/windupParadox
Summary: A Chara story, set at the end of the True Pacifist route.





	

“Frisk! This is all just a bad dream...! Please, wake up…!”

I rub my eyes, and...

...I?

No, you. You rub your eyes, and lift yourself from the ground cautiously. You’re in the small space just beyond the throne room. Crowding around you are my friends. Our friends. They seem worried about you, but you don’t listen to their concerns. You look down at my hands. Our hands. Our blue and pink sweater. Yes yes, I know. It’s me, Frisk. But it’s you too, don’t you agree?

“Perhaps you might want to take a walk?” Mom’s voice catches your attention at last. “You can say goodbye to all your wonderful friends. Do as you wish. We will all wait for you here.”

You open your mouth as if to respond, but… maybe you shouldn’t try talking yet? You settle for a nod and waste no time power walking off back into King Asgore’s home. You know the layout well, and immediately turn down a hallway ending in a mirror. You stare into it, and my face stares back at you. I suppose you would be used to that by now, wouldn’t you? I mean, it is my face. But despite everything, it’s still you, Chara.

“What on Earth going on?”

Your accent mixes with my voice, making it sound uncanny to us both. Hopefully the question was rhetorical, because I don’t actually have an answer. I’m somewhat surprised with myself that I’m not panicking; though I guess I don’t really feel much of anything right now.

You clench the sides of your head. “Frisk, you’re confusing me!” you groan. “Stop talking to yourself inside my head… your head.”

Our head perhaps, you think. Or maybe I think. Sorry, this is jarring for me as well. I’ll do my best to stop. You take a deep breath, attempting to defog your hazy conscious. You recall Mom’s suggestion that you take a walk; perhaps that would be the best thing for you at this moment. 

The walk through the core is familiar and yet somehow alien. Sounds that on your previous journeys through the winding maze escaped your notice are now at the forefront of your mind. The whirring of fans, the clank of gear teeth, even the faint tapping of your shoes touching down on metal flooring. Before long your brisk pace is reduced to a veritable crawl as you relish in the feeling of owning your actions and experiencing the world first hand once again.

These sensations however, all pale in comparison to the sweltering heat that overtakes you upon exiting Mettaton’s resort entering the Hotland proper. It’s like walking from a freezer straight into a sauna. The feeling is familiar, though the memories you have of this place feel strangely distant. Just how long has it been since you were alive? Everything seems so different, with the exception of your adoptive parents. Or it feels different anyway; thinking back to those times stirs only vague impressions of memories. This realization upsets you. In the place of your own memories are ones that do not belong to you. My memories. Ou-

“No,” you say bluntly. Sorry.

You stand at the edge of one of Hotland’s precipitous cliffs and gaze out over the view. The waves of lava crashing against the wall of rock, the radiant glow of the molten ocean, the vast mechanical core in the distance, all of these things fill you with… an uneasy sort of melancholy, actually. Since your awakening, you’ve been fully focused on being vengeful. Only now does it occur to you just how much the world has moved on despite your absence. This is not the same Hotland that you once lazed about in with your best friend in the whole world. 

You consider using the elevator, which you’re certain is a new addition. Convenient, you suppose. But walks are supposed to relax you, why not take the scenic route? You do your best to appreciate the sights, but the great weight on your chest soon turns your stroll into a traipse. 

News of the barrier being gone at last has traveled faster than you have. Along your route, many familiar faces regard you warmly. All of them are your friends. Really.

“No, they’re yours,” you whisper under your breath. The friendly waves and occasional handshakes with expressions of gratitude are not meant for you, they’re meant for me.

They’re for us though. We did this together. You and I. Together.

Fate itself conspires to refute my point; a familiar site catches your eye. Just on the outskirts of Doctor Alphys’s laboratory, discarded on the ground outside, is… our knife.

“My knife,” you correct yet again. You begin the approach the weapon, but think better of it and stop in your tracks.

...Or not. But you do not pick up the knife. You do not pick up the knife, please. You absolutely do no-

Ok. Fine. You pick up the knife. But then you p-

“Shut up!” you bark. You regard the knife, donning a grim expression. Your brow furrows and mouth contorts as you recall all of the lives we took with this simple tool. Only for our choices to be erased on saving throw of morality. The monsters of the Underground may have forgotten the path you once took, but you haven’t. The knife is heavy with the weight of our sins.

“My sins.”

Knife clenched tightly in your fist, you continue through the lab and down the way we came. The warm glow of Hotland’s lava sea fades behind you, replaced by nigh supernatural glow of Waterfall’s caves.

The perpetual twilight of the caves seems better suited to your disposition. Still brandishing the knife, you hang your head low and stare at your feet as you walk. Yet again, your own memories of this place are so distant, almost like you were experiencing and uncertain deja vu from being here. But your feet still know the way, and you scarcely have to look up from them.

Around you, you hear familiar murmurs of monsters excitedly chattering. This time, no one approaches you… the sight of you trudging along face down with a knife is hand is pretty intimidating. Not exactly your intention but you’re certainly not complaining either. It doesn’t take long before their tones shift from joy to uneasy concern. Their voices are too soft for you to hear, but echo flowers along the path betray their secrecy.

“Do you think something is wrong with them…?”

“They look scary.”

“Maybe someone should talk to them?”

But no one does. Not for quite some time anyway. You’re very nearly to the exit to Snowdin when a cheerful voice shatters your precious silence. 

“Yo! You came back! Wait up!”

You turn to face this interloper, who nearly loses their balance as they race to your side. You recognize them as that kid that hangs around us whenever we travel through Waterfall. You’re not even sure what their name is, despite how much they talk… I think their name is just Kid.

“I heard you destroyed the barrier! Is that for real?!” they ask in that grating, shrill constantly borderline shouting sound which is apparently their voice… be nice, Chara.

Your only response is a shallow nod.

“Wow, that’s amazing! So uh… if you took down the barrier, what are you doing all the way out here?”

“Walking,” you answer curtly.

“Where?” He doesn’t seem to notice the change in our voice since last you spoke. 

Their question is simple, and yet it occurs to you that you have no answer. Mom mentioned saying goodbye to our friends, but you aren’t doing much of that. Still, you’ve come quite some way for having no destination in mind. Your failure to find an answer frustrates you, and in absence of an answer, you shift your gaze to the knife still clenched tightly in your fist. ...It occurs to you there’s a much easier way to end this conversation. But. But you don’t do that.

You don’t want to hurt anyone right now.

Please.

You sigh and resume walking towards the exit to Snowdin.

“Huh?” Kid calls and begins walking at your side.

“Don’t know,” you shrug. “Just walking.” The answer doesn’t satisfy you, but it apparently suffices for Kid.

“Cool! I’ll walk with you!” he says. You grunt, but Kid doesn’t seem to register any disapproval. Not in the mood for any sort of confrontation, you opt to subtly lengthen your stride, hoping the twerp will trip trying to keep up. But to their credit, Kid matches your pace easily. With your now quickened steps, you hardly register entering and then exiting Snowdin proper.

All the while, Kid rants and raves about something or other, but you’re not listening. Navigation through Snowdin’s outskirts and forests is left to an instinctual autopilot, your focus is strictly inward. Your thoughts are not in the form of coherent sentences, but rather a volatile mixture of agitation, anxiety, and aching sadness. 

You’ve just crossed a final short bridge when you see him. An unmistakable figure, even at this distance. You freeze in place, and Kid bumps into your backside, knocking themselves over. 

“Hey! Wha-”

“Go home,” you order, not bothering to turn and read their expression.

Silence. And then, at last, “what?”

“Go home, Kid!” This time you shout your command, aggression dripping from your tone. They don’t need to be told again apparently; Kid hops to his feet and races off.

Your adversary before you does not move, and so you walk slowly to close the gap between you until you’re at a more… cordial distance relative to him. Still, he makes no movements, opting instead to simply look at you with hollow eyes.

The setting has changed, but this is just another stare down with Sans the Skeleton in a collection of hundreds. Instinct takes over once more, though this time your legs stay still. Instead, your knife-arm raises in a gradual, practiced, threatening motion.

Please don’t do this.

“Got a feeling this doesn’t end well for you,” says Sans. “Guessing you already know that though, huh?”

You know he’s right. Sans may be far from the most intimidating monster in the Underground, but he’s the only one we’ve never been able to kill. You gather your courage and keep your arm from quivering, but your expression betrays you; an anxious grimace finds its way to your features.

“How ‘bout you lose the knife, kiddo?”

Do it. Er, you do it. You toss the knife aside. You toss the knife aside. You toss the-

Ok. You set the knife on the ground. Close enough.

“Huh. Really wasn’t sure if that would work. Good choice.” Sans’ head tilts, his stare finally broken, and he gives a brief shrug. “Was really starting to think this was finally it.”

“Who says it isn’t?” you respond. He doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. Instead looks intensely at the knife at your feet. You suspect he’s still expecting you to grab it again go on the attack. But you make no actions; it’s his move.

“What are you doing?” Sans finally asks.

“Walking.” You shoot back your answer without missing a beat. Before Sans can respond, you reach back down and pick up the knife. And then. And then you just resume walking.

You walk straight at Sans, not with intent, but because he is in your path. You will not move for him. For a moment, Sans stays absolutely still. Anticipation paralyzes him, perhaps. But in the next moment, he raises his hand.

You feel gravity’s pull on my body increasing. You keep walking.

You feel the weight of your soul dragging you downward. You keep walking.

You feel our mind and thoughts descending into darkness. You keep walking.

Sans is directly in front of you. Your grip on the knife tightens, but you do not raise it to your side. You keep walking.

Sans steps aside. You keep walking.

“Kiddo,” he calls after you. You don’t respond. You keep walking. 

You feel Sans’ glare at your back as you reach the door to the ruins. As before, the doorway is sealed shut. Filled with resentment-fueled determination, you thrust the knife into the door frame and begin to pry. The blade begins to warp, but combined with a hard kick, it sends the door flying open with a high pitched crack.

A small pile of metallic shards clang as they fall to the ground by your feet. The knife in your hands has shattered, all that remains being the handle, which you allow to fall to the ground as well. You turn around; Sans is nowhere to be seen.

You had been too distracted while in Asgore’s home for the significance of the setting to hit you, but the same can’t be said upon your entrance to Toriel’s home. This place is unlike the rest of the Underground. It hasn’t changed. It’s as if your home was abandoned the day you died, right down to the withered plants in all the vases.

You decide not to linger here.

The ruins, once populated by a menagerie of monsters, are now empty. You make your way back through simple puzzles you recall solving over and over. Or watching them be solved, perhaps? Every so often, you think you see the presence of another out of the corner of your eye. But you’re mistaken; there’s not a soul present but our own.

You reach the clearing where I first met your best friend. Back then, he was terrifying, wasn’t he? 

...I wish we could have saved him, too.

“You can’t save everyone, Frisk,” you say, not a shred of doubt within you. “Not everyone can have a happy ending.”

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Despite your certainty, you don’t want them to be true. But as you approach the bed of familiar golden flowers, you feel a heavy sense of finality around you.

“I’m tired, Frisk,” you say. I know. I can feel it… Is everything okay, Chara?

“Uh huh.” You fall to your knees before slumping over entirely onto the flowers. “I’m gonna sleep, Frisk..”

Okay. Don’t worry Chara. When we wake up, we’ll figure everything out. Everything will be okay, I promise! We’ll find a way for both of us to be happy!

“You can’t save everyone, Frisk,” you repeat. “Sometimes it’s just…” before you finish your sentence, you drift off.

***

Frisk wakes up.


End file.
